


the blaze of his laughter

by fensandmarshes



Series: fensandmarshes's The Untamed Spring Fest 2020 [13]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, Identity Issues, M/M, Miraculous Ladybug Love Square, Pining Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Pining Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Pre-Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Reverse Crush (Miraculous Ladybug), Secret Identity Fail, Untamed Spring Fest 2020, Vaguely crack, but not mutual pining exactly, or as i like to say, tags will be added as I post chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fensandmarshes/pseuds/fensandmarshes
Summary: Wei Wuxian lowers his dizi from his lips, the red-and-black patterning familiar in his periphery. The notes of Cleansing fade, and the akuma - no, it’s a butterfly now, with Hawk Moth’s taint purged from its wings - flutters away. “Bye-bye, little butterfly,” he murmurs.or: the wangxian miraculous ladybug au, for personal reasons
Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, ladynoir except it's wangxian
Series: fensandmarshes's The Untamed Spring Fest 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688800
Comments: 116
Kudos: 191





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for day 14 of the untamed spring fest, "butterfly"! 
> 
> my immediate thoughts were chat noir!wwx and ladybug!lwj but i really, _really_ love [the miraculous character development theory](https://miraculousinbalance.tumblr.com/post/142117069927/miraculous-in-balance) (by [miraculousinbalance on tumblr](https://miraculousinbalance.tumblr.com)) so uh this happened instead? i changed up the colour schemes a LITTLE (black cat is black and gold rather than black and green) and also the general lore some - wwx has a dizi, not a yoyo! and lwj gets a sword - but ashfhasd i have. strong feelings about this au now. it was meant to be crack but it's ....... not.  
> oh dear.
> 
> title is a line from mrs dalloway by virginia woolf lol (p171)
> 
> the superhero titles are in pinyin! more on this in the end notes

Wei Wuxian lowers his dizi from his lips, the red-and-black patterning familiar in his periphery. The notes of Cleansing fade, and the akuma - no, it’s a butterfly now, with Hu Die’s taint purged from its wings - flutters away. “Bye-bye, little butterfly,” he murmurs. He’s not sure why. It’s not the kind of thing he’d usually say, but he’s been repeating it every time since Stoneheart; it’s the respectful thing to do, maybe. Or he just likes having a little catchphrase to ground himself with. He turns to Hei Mao, who’s hovering as always by his side, a steady certainty in the way he looms in Wei Wuxian’s periphery. “You hear that, Hei Mao? We did it!”

“Mn,” Hei Mao agrees. There’s the slightest quirk to his lips, and Wei Wuxian would take just that as a win - it’s not quite a smile, but it’s close enough that he’s fighting back a blush - but then Hei Mao  _ continues _ , voice deep and soft and reverent. “You did well, Piao Chong.”

“I,” Wei Wuxian says, and then stops. It’s not like him to be speechless.  _ Fuck _ . Time for evasive maneuvers. “You’re not so bad yourself, Hei Mao! Keep fighting like that and I might just start thinking you’re  _ competent _ !”

“I am more than competent,” Hei Mao says quietly, sheathing the black-and-gold sword at his side. “But thank you.”

“I was  _ joking _ ,” Wei Wuxian whines, and lets himself fall ungracefully into Hei Mao’s arms - his fellow vigilante, partner-in-heroism, catches him with more bemusement than anything else - before his earrings bleep at him, almost irritated. “Ah, fuck,  _ Tikki, _ could you not give me  _ five _ more minutes?”

“Doesn’t work like that,” Hei Mao says, stiffening. He gives Wei Wuxian a gentle shove. “Leave, Piao Chong.”

“I don’t  _ wanna _ ,” Wei Wuxian grouses, already turning away to leap off the edge of the rooftop. “See you, Hei Mao. I keep telling you, we really should exchange phone numbers -”

“ _ Go _ ,” Hei Mao commands. His tone brooks no argument. 

Wei Wuxian sighs, pulls his Lucky Charm - a pair of scissors that he only  _ barely  _ avoided just fucking stabbing the akuma with - from where he’s stuck them into his belt, and tosses them into the sky with a shout of “Miraculous Piao Chong!”. Honestly, the appalling safety standards his Miraculous forces him to adhere to! Tossing scissors into the sky! What’s next, he wonders? Carrying a knife with the blade facing -

“ _ Piao Chong _ .”

“Al _ right _ ,” he huffs, and leaps off the roof into the alley below. To be fair, Hei Mao was probably right to pester him. He barely makes it round the corner out of sight before his transformation drops. Tikki appears by his right ear before floating around to hover in front of him, arms crossed. She’s visibly worn out, but also very,  _ very  _ good at the “I’m not mad, just disappointed” stare.

“I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he tries. “I know I shouldn’t leave it to the last minute, I just -”

“Wei Ying,” Tikki says firmly. “You know the rules.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, and tugs a cookie from his bag - thank  _ God _ it transforms with him. You’d think a whole messenger bag would be a little difficult for Tikki to magic away into his Piao Chong suit, but it doesn’t seem to be an issue. “Here you go.”

She nibbles on it, wide blue eyes very big and very earnest. “Wei Ying, I know you’re very fond of Hei Mao -”

“ _ Everyone’s _ fond of Hei Mao, it’s not just me,” Wei Wuxian protests. “Have you  _ seen  _ him?”

“No, I’ve been in your bag every time,” Tikki harrumphs, and quells him with a stare. “You  _ need  _ to leave as soon as you can after using your Lucky Charm, Wei Ying -”

“I know the rules,” he snaps, and turns to leave the alley. “I just forgot. Come on, let’s go.”

Tikki sighs but swoops obediently into his bag, and Wei Wuxian strolls out of the alleyway as purposefully as he can - only to collide, head-on, with - 

“I am supposed,” Wei Wuxian says before he can think, “to have  _ good luck _ .”

Hei Mao stares at him, somewhat bemused. The graceful arcs of his dark hair - Wei Wuxian would be  _ sure  _ it was gelled if his own Miraculous didn’t also do weird things to  _ his _ hair - obscure the majority of his face, but Wei Wuxian  _ thinks _ he might have flushed pink, just a little. “Wei -” Hei Mao begins, and Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes ‘cause what the  _ fuck _ .

“You know my name?” he interrupts, torn between bemusement and anxiety. He  _ needs  _ Hei Mao to not notice  _ anything  _ about Wei Wuxian,  _ needs _ to be able to fade into the background and hide from him, because otherwise he’s going to say something too obvious and then Hei Mao is going to  _ know _ and everything is going to go wrong -

Hei Mao is  _ stammering _ , and there’s a very familiar determined set to his lips - he’s trying to hold back a  _ smile _ , oh God oh fuck. “Wei Y -” he begins, and then visibly changes his mind about what he’s going to say. “Wei Wuxian, you - Were you caught in the attack, the akuma -”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Wei Wuxian realises, and then, “uh, yeah - I got hit by one of the akuma’s bolts, I was a zombie thing for a while, I think. Piao Chong saved me!” And in his defense, his crush (he says ‘crush’ to minimise it but really it’s more like ‘I’ve been hopelessly in love since the moment he fell out of the sky in a black-and-gold superhero costume and told me he had the power of destruction”) is standing right in front of him, off-guard and with time to spare, since he didn’t use his Cataclysm today (which Wei Wuxian is not supposed to know, but it’s fine, probably). So can he be  _ blamed _ if he takes this very glaring opportunity to prod, very gently, “Piao Chong’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

“Hm,” Hei Mao says, and the burgeoning blush disappears. “He is irresponsible.”

Well, there goes Wei Wuxian’s heart. That’s fine. “I should probably,” he mumbles, “go. It was, uh - cool seeing you, Hei Mao, thank you for stopping to chat, I know you as a superhero must be very busy anyway  _ see you bye _ !”

He sprints away almost faster than he did as Piao Chong, and doesn’t stop until he’s home and can lean against his bedroom wall and breathe and not have to think about Hei Mao.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back? me -

“So Lan Zhan,” comes Wei Ying’s voice, and Lan Wangji turns - slowly, carefully, as if he has not been hyperaware of Wei Ying’s presence since the moment he walked in the classroom door a year ago and demanded who the asshole was that stuck gum to his seat. “I … might have dropped my homework in the river, and it’s for Lit and I  _ know  _ you’re good at humanities even if you pretend not to be and it’s due next period and I’m not asking you to let me  _ copy _ , just … use yours as a reference -”

“I will not enable your cheating,” Lan Wangji says clearly. He focuses on speaking with proper enunciation, rather the pleading way Wei Ying is staring at him. It is already difficult to refuse Wei Ying anything, so Lan Wangji must not allow his resolve to falter. “You should do your work.”

“It wasn’t my _fault_ , Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests, and sidles closer to Lan Wangji’s side, _insidious_. Lan Wangji turns away. His ears are already heated. They’re walking into school, and it is only the beginning of the day, and if Lan Wangji is _already_ having as much trouble as he is just because Wei Ying _smiled_ at him - “I swear,” Wei Ying adds earnestly, and Lan Wangji resigns himself to his fate. “Wen Ning tripped over something as we were crossing the bridge, and I tried to catch him but then _I_ fell over instead and most of my stuff fell out of my bag and into the river - and look, I had to fish all the salvageable stuff out.” He shoves his forearms in Lan Wangji’s face, who winces at the smell. They are indeed slightly damp, and smell faintly of polluted city water. “Thank _God_ my laptop was heavy enough that it didn’t fall out, but my paper homework is all gone, and you _know_ Lan Qiren isn’t going to believe me -”

“You  _ have  _ lied to him before,” Lan Wangji points out, trying desperately to redirect the conversation with what little remains of his rule-abiding Lan determination. 

Wei Ying  _ pouts _ , and Lan Wangji’s heart - against his better judgment - melts. He clenches his fists. “Come,” he mutters. “I will  _ help  _ you write a new essay.”

Lan Wangji most certainly does _ not  _ feel anything as ridiculous as butterflies in his stomach when Wei Ying breaks into a breathtaking, impossible smile. He steels his expression as best he can, purses his lips, and turns away.

“You’re too good to me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says offhandedly as he works, sprawled across two chairs with his bag in a  _ third _ seat beside him. The classroom is empty save for Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, which is the only reason Lan Wangji thinks his messy posture is permissible - at least he’s not bothering anyone  _ else _ with it. He has ink scattered across his palms, which is ridiculous. If this were traditional calligraphy, with a brush, Lan Wangji could understand the difficulty in keeping his hands clean, but Wei Ying is using a  _ ballpoint pen  _ to write a  _ literature essay _ . Perhaps it’s the speed with which he’s writing. (Lan Wangji admits, begrudgingly, that Wei Ying is a startlingly brilliant and clever student despite his … unconventional approaches to discipline. And that he is capable of writing, both on a keyboard and by hand, with somewhat impressive speed. And that he is smarter than he gives himself credit for, and genuinely cares about each of the subjects even if he resents the assignments which he believes are beneath him, and sometimes when he is inspired he takes on a fierce light in his eyes that reminds Lan Wangji of the strong, proud, teasing Piao Chong, and -)

“Lan  _ Zhan _ ,” Wei Ying repeats.

Lan Wangji blinks once, trying to focus. “Mn?” he says, like coming up from underwater.

“How did you interpret this part of the prompt?” Wei Ying muses, and  _ grabs Lan Wangji’s hand _ to point at the offending section of the printout, and the characters are swimming in front of Lan Wangji’s eyes until he can’t make them out because  _ Wei Ying is still touching his hand _ . He snatches it away as if he’s been burned and forces himself to breathe. To be calm. To be still, to empty his mind, to  _ focus _ .

“Are you okay?” Wei Ying frowns, sounding a little hurt. He leans forwards to inspect Lan Wangji’s hand, as if he thinks Lan Wangji has been  _ injured _ . 

Lan Wangji scrambles back in his seat with a flash of panic. “Wei  _ Ying  _ -!”

“What did I do?” Wei Ying snaps back at him, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to respond. He can’t tell Wei Ying that he’s been in love with him for almost a year. But he also cannot lie. He stares, in mute dread, and wishes he were Piao Chong to share in some of its luck - 

The building shakes. A window shatters. All at once, Lan Wangji is  _ Hei Mao _ , diving for Wei Ying and knocking him out of his seats to wrestle him underneath the desks; he stills, curled protectively around Wei Ying’s body for a moment as his instincts scramble to dissect the sounds surrounding him, before reason kicks in. He almost chokes in his haste to scramble away from Wei Ying, only to, with a grace truly befitting the second brother of the esteemed Lan family, bump his head on the table. The slight pain clears his thoughts like a whirlwind. He wants to panic but  _ can’t _ , Hei Mao’s assuredness and competence possessing his limbs and  _ begging  _ him to transform, and as soon as the initial shouts die down and the building stops shaking he seizes Wei Ying’s wrist to tug him out into the hallway.

“Akuma,” Wei Ying murmurs, and Lan Wangji does a double-take at the calmness of his tone. “Need to leave -” Suddenly he seems to register that Lan Wangji is beside him, and Lan Wangji  _ sees  _ the moment he hoists his grin back into place. “You were pretty fast back then, Lan Zhan! What are those instincts from, hm - martial arts? I know you do a lot of traditional stuff -”

“I am Kong Que,” a voice thunders, and Lan Wangji catches a flash of gold and green out of a window before it disappears around a corner and out of sight. “Piao Chong and Hei Mao, come out and fight!”

Wei Ying looks for a moment like he’s stifling laughter. “Is that Jin Zixuan?” The grin disappears from his face, though, with remarkable swiftness - suddenly his grey eyes are darting and panicked. Lan Wangji wants to  _ protect  _ him. Surely his luck cannot be this bad.

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to speak, grasping frantically for words, but Wei Ying beats him to it. “I have to  _ go _ ,” he says, fervent, and turns before Lan Wangji can protest to run towards - where? To  _ hide _ , hopefully. To be  _ safe _ . Lan Wangji knows it would be hypocritical of him to wish that Wei Ying stayed far, far away from the akuma, but he, at least, is a superhero.

Wei Ying, sweet and earnest and unlucky, is not.

Lan Wangji is alone now, and takes advantage of the eerie, akuma-struck silence to duck into a storage cupboard. Plagg zips out of his pocket, eyes creased in mirth. “Not  _ now _ ,” Lan Wangji hisses, forestalling the inevitable snarky comments on his lacklustre love hife. “Plagg, transform me!”

“You were here fast,” Piao Chong comments as he lowers his flute (Lan Wangji wants to ask if it’s a dizi - he thinks it is, but never gets enough  _ time _ ) and releases the now-cleansed akuma. “Bye-bye, little butterfly.”

“I was in the area,” Lan Wangji says crisply. “Did you see -” 

“See who?” Piao Chong prods as Lan Wangji pauses, eyes alight beneath his mask, an odd and startling glimmer of red to them that must be a side-effect of the Miraculous. “You can tell me. I won’t pry, I swear!” 

“... Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji admits. He should not give Piao Chong any hints as to his identity - should not let Piao Chong guess who his friends might be, if Wei Ying can be counted among them - but he  _ worries _ . The spark of surprise in Piao Chong’s eyes does not go amiss, and Lan Wangji leans forwards. “You saw him?”

“Oh,” Piao Chong says, a little dazed, and shakes his head. “Uh. Wei Wuxian - yes, I saw him! He was … hiding in a cupboard. He’s a student at the school here, right? So it makes sense for him to be there.”

So Wei Ying was not affected by the akuma this time, then. That’s good. Lan Wangji carefully relaxes his grip on his sword - he didn’t realise he was clutching its hilt so tightly - and schools his expression into its usual serenity. “I should go,” he says primly. “I used Cataclysm.” As if on cue, his ring flashes its four-minute mark - they were remarkably efficient together, Lan Wangji thinks, not with pride but as a statement of fact - and he turns, pushing a wayward strand of hair out of his face to no avail. He wishes his transformation would allow him to keep his neat ponytail, but Plagg, when queried to that effect, responded that the messy hair was ‘part of the aesthetic’.

“Wait,” Piao Chong requests, sounding strangely unsure. It’s not a tone Lan Wangji is used to hearing from his self-assured partner, and he glances backwards to find Piao Chong biting his lip. “You know Wei Wuxian?”

Lan Wangji is glad of the years spent meditating upon restraint and propriety with his brother and uncle. It’s the only reason he doesn’t spit a panicked curse as he darts away from Piao Chong before he can ask any more pointed, terrifying questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a million thanks to my incredible beta [@supinetothestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supinetothestars) \- she's not in EITHER of the fandoms this is for but she's doing amazing regardless!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is much longer than the two previously posted ones, lol, but i'm done with overthinking it, so (chucks it at you and hopes for the best)

“Tikki,” Wei Wuxian says, urgently. “Hei Mao  _ knows _ me.”

Tikki crosses her tiny arms, giving him a skeptical stare. “I’d sure  _ hope  _ so, given you two have been partners for almost a year now.”

“No, he knows  _ Wei Wuxian _ ,” he hisses, and watches the mirth melt off her expression in an instant. “He asked me - Piao Chong - about him, me,  _ specifically. _ ”

“I knew you were too stupid to be left alone in your mask,” Tikki grumbles. Wei Wuxian chuckles, trying to quell his own panic. “I’m sure it’s fine, Wei Ying - you’ve interacted with him a couple of times as yourself already, right? When that whole …  _ thing _ …” (Tikki scrunches up her nose here and gives a disapproving sniff) “... happened with Xue Yang?”

“We only spoke a couple times,” Wei Wuxian frowns. “There’s no reason he’d remember  _ me _ , surely?”

Tikki looks like she’s trying very hard not to sigh. “You can leave … quite an impression, Wei Ying. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

“ _ Nah _ ,” Wei Wuxian says dismissively, and flops backwards onto his bed. (No schools take attendance after an akuma attack - sometimes classes still run, but one of the first new mandates after Hu Die began sending butterflies was that taking attendance would be pointless, especially since akuma battles tend to leave people dislocated and shaken at best, traumatised at worst since Wei Wuxian’s Miraculous cure doesn’t seem to reach the mind.) “I guess the only other option would be that he knows me, you know, as his  _ own  _ real-person identity -”

“Nope,” Tikki forestalls, a little too quickly.

“You don’t even know who he is, Tikki,” Wei Wuxian points out, squinting at her. “Unless -?”

“I just think it’s unlikely!”

“... Sure,” Wei Wuxian sighs, and doesn’t push it even though he probably should. “I guess I can’t think of anyone that I know that’s anything like Hei Mao, you know - oh my  _ God _ , Tikki, he’s  _ so  _ fucking ripped, have you  _ seen  _ -”

“I have, yes,” Tikki says primly. “But obviously I don’t have any opinions on the -”

“And he’s so  _ brave _ . I don’t think I’ve seen him back down from anything,” Wei Wuxian muses to either the ceiling or his kwami (he’s not really sure which). “He trusts me, even when he probably shouldn’t because let’s be real here, I’m a fucking  _ dumbass _ . And I know his Miraculous changes his eyes, makes them all cat-like and stuff, but do you think his eyes are that colour in real life?”

Tikki is pointedly silent.

“Ah, okay.” Wei Wuxian sits up and stretches his arms towards the ceiling, drawing out the tension that’s beginning to gather in his shoulders. “I just wonder why he  _ asked _ about me. Like, do you think he knows I goes to that school?”

“Probably,” Tikki says, conspicuously noncommittal. 

“I mean, he -  _ wait. _ ” The idea hits Wei Wuxian like a rush of ice, and he stiffens halfway through his stretch. “Oh  _ fuck _ .”

Tikki’s at his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“What if he’s guessed I’m Piao Chong,” Wei Wuxian whispers, voice suddenly hoarse, fighting back a surge of panic. “Tikki, I’m sorry, I’m not careful enough, I’m not clever enough, but I’ll - stick to the rules from now on, I swear - I’ll -”

“Wei Ying!” Tikki interrupts. “Calm down.”

Wei Wuxian’s chest is, all at once, heaving with the force of his breath, but he shuts up obediently and focuses on grounding himself in the familiar textures of his bedroom. Inhales with a one, two, three, four. Exhales on a one, two, three.

“If he’s guessed who you are,” Tikki says, very reasonably, “why would he ask if you were safe?”

Wei Wuxian mulls this over for a moment, curling his fingers into his bedsheets. Then he stiffens again. “Unless he was trying to catch me out -”

“Hei Mao wouldn’t try to trick you into a lie.”

This gives Wei Wuxian more pause. Tikki’s right (as she often is) - Hei Mao is not one for subterfuge. When he speaks, he says what he means. When he commits to things, he does so wholeheartedly. These things, Wei Wuxian knows with a certainty that sits comfortably next to his heart - it’s where he stores all the things he knows about Hei Mao, all while trying not to pine  _ too  _ desperately. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and shudders through another breath. (Exhale - one, two, three.) “All the same, I should … probably talk to him.”

“ _ Why _ ,” Tikki says flatly.

“If he asked Piao Chong - me - about me, then he’s  _ worried _ about me,” Wei Wuxian reasons. (Well, he’d like to think he’s being reasonable. Tikki might have some choice words to add.) “And I don’t wanna make him worry, right?”

“... Right,” Tikki repeats, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “I just don’t think -”

“Although I wonder how I could … actually talk to him?” Wei Wuxian gets to his feet to fall into comfortable pacing, across the path in the carpet he’s tracked a thousand times before. “What do civilians even  _ do  _ if they want to talk to us?”

“They  _ don’t _ .”

“Right!” Wei Wuxian whirls on his heel to point at Tikki, with a grin slowly working its way back onto his face and into his bouncing step. “That’s a problem, right? What if someone  _ needs  _ to contact us? I should set something up.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Tikki admonishes, but there’s a touch of interest to her disparaging stare, and Wei Wuxian knows he’s already won. Tikki, sweet as she is, is not cut out to argue.

“Weird question, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian trills, popping up out of Lan Zhan’s periphery in the way he knows he hates. “If you were trying to contact Piao Chong or Hei Mao, how would you do it?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t turn, doesn’t even spare him the slightest glance; his eyes are fixed firmly into the middle-distance ahead of them both. “Why?”

“Why what?”

Lan Zhan gives a slightly exasperated huff, and Wei Wuxian catalogues it gleefully under his swiftly-growing list of Reactions He’s Elicited From Lan Wangji. (Section ‘annoyed’, subsection ‘sigh’.) “Why do you want to contact them?”

“Who said I wanted to talk to them?” Wei Wuxian points out, but it’s futile and they both know it - Lan Zhan isn’t big on indulging Wei Wuxian in his technicalities, preferring to address what he means rather than what he says. “I certainly didn’t. This is all hypothetical.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Wei Wuxian admits after Lan Zhan has inflicted a painful length of silence onto their conversation. He drops his bag onto a seat and grins in Lan Zhan’s direction. “If you did need to talk to them, then. How would you do it?”

Lan Zhan is quiet, and Wei Wuxian realises with delight that he’s actually contemplating it. (That’s one thing about Lan Zhan that never gets old - he takes everything so  _ seriously _ . Sometimes it’s incredibly endearing. Sometimes it’s impossibly frustrating. Right now, it’s weirdly validating, and Wei Wuxian ratchets up the smile by another couple of notches.) “Depends on the content of your conversation,” Lan Zhan says after a moment, eyes - a strange light brown with little hints of gold, which Wei Wuxian knows the colour of for platonic friend reasons - distant and focused. “It would be easiest to contact them publicly, but if the information were sensitive …” 

“Like I said. Weird question.” Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist to tug him down onto the bench next to him, and notices with delight the way Lan Zhan’s eyes widen in response. “Sorry to spring that on you, ha! Anyway, I need your opinion on something else. There’s this question on my Chem practice test that the answer key said I got wrong, but I’m  _ sure _ I was right so I’m wondering if maybe there’s a typo in the question -”

“ _ Ridiculous _ ,” Lan Zhan says firmly, but he shifts a little closer on the bench so as to get a better view of the offending question.

It’s 3:38 in the morning. By all rights, Wei Wuxian should be the only person in the house awake right now. Actually, by all rights, not even Wei Wuxian should be awake, but hey - nothing can hold out against his untamed chaotic energy for long. He’s the grandmaster of chaotic energy. The point being: someone should most certainly  _ not _ be outside Wei Wuxian’s third-floor window at 3am, and that someone should  _ definitely  _ not be  _ tapping  _ on it.

Wei Wuxian knows that there’s a rooftop at a slightly lower level than his window just next door, and that there’s a convenient air conditioning unit a couple of metres away, and that if you’re blessed with slightly miraculous levels of agility and balance (you know, like Wei Wuxian is) you can reach from the top of the AC unit to his window without too much in the way of fumbling. But the only person other that Wei Wuxian who would be able to pull it off without toppling, besides some kind of highly trained assassin or something, is Hei Mao, and the only reason Hei Mao would be here is -

The tap comes again. Wei Wuxian spits some choice profanity at no one in particular (Tikki clears her throat reproachfully), waves his kwami out of sight, and approaches the window.

Yup.

It’s Hei Mao. His eyes are brighter than they should be in the dark, glowing faintly - - maybe it’s the way the streetlamps catch on his pupils, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t think so - and his long hair spills unkempt over the faint gold accents on the shoulder of his inky suit. He’s everything that Lan Zhan is not, Wei Wuxian muses for a moment, and then wonders why he thought that. “You’re gonna have to move away from the window if you want me to open it,” he says, bolder than he feels, hoping the sound will carry through the glass. 

Hei Mao acquiesces. 

“So?” he demands, when he can wrestle the window open - he doesn’t actually open it a whole lot, so the latch is kind of stiff. “What was worth waking me up at three in the goddamn morning?”

Hei Mao has the composure to raise an eyebrow - or, well, the eyebrow-adjacent portion of his mask - even while perched precariously on top of an air-conditioning unit on the next roof over at three in the  _ goddamn morning _ , and Wei Wuxian finds this fact very objectionable. How  _ dare  _ he be this perfect? “Woke you up?” Hei Mao inquires, and there’s the barest narrowing of his eyes.

Wei Wuxian recognises that for what it is, which is a  _ shit-eating grin _ .

Ugh.

“Okay,  _ fine _ , I was already awake,” Wei Wuxian snaps, and ignores the mournful stare Hei Mao gives him in response. “But why are  _ you  _ here? You never - I mean, I didn’t think Hei Mao ever patrolled after eight thirty.” Hei Mao  _ doesn’t _ . It was established very early on in their partnership that Hei Mao simply would not show his face after 8.30 unless there was an akuma already active, and that Piao Chong would handle the night patrols and mundane crimefighting after what must be a really strict curfew. But  _ Wei Wuxian  _ doesn’t really have an excuse to know that. “What do you want?”

“You wanted to talk,” Hei Mao says, very seriously.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t  _ gape _ , but it’s a close thing. “How do you  _ know? _ ”

“ _ Uh. _ ”

“Oh, wait, I got it!” Wei Wuxian realises, and parries Hei Mao’s skeptical head-tilt with a brilliant smile of his own. “That must be part of your Mir…sterious superhero superpowers. Mysterious superhero superpowers. Right? Black cats have weird otherworldly sixth senses. I’m sure. That’s a  _ thing. _ ”

He’s read something along those lines. Surely. 

Hei Mao doesn’t say anything, and Wei Wuxian remembers that he is in fact perched precariously on top of an air-conditioning unit, in the middle of the night, in the cold. “Do you want to come in?” he asks, and flushes a deep red at the double entendre - it’s worse because it’s Hei Mao, aka the superhero Wei Wuxian has been infatuated with for a year and been damn near in love with for at  _ least  _ six months. And Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a mask to hide behind at the moment. And he’s inviting Hei Mao into his  _ room  _ -

He drags that train of thought to a halt before it can go too far off the rails.

Too little, too late. 

For some reason, though, he’s not the only one affected. Anyone else might miss it, but Wei Wuxian - you know, secretly Piao Chong - has grown very accustomed to reading his partner’s tells; Hei Mao’s knuckles have tightened infinitesimally around the ledge of the air-conditioning unit he’s waiting on, and there’s a stiffness to the line of his shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago. Wei Wuxian considers this for a moment, with tilted head and narrowed eyes, before brushing it aside and fumbling to open the window wide enough for someone to climb through.

Hei Mao clambers through his window  _ gracefully _ . It’s like a personal attack against Wei Wuxian’s self-control; he has to forcibly look away because otherwise he’ll be stuck dragging his eyes over Hei Mao’s unfairly lithe silhouette in the dark, and no one wants that. But once he’s made his bed (which he never does) and rearranged his desk multiple times (it’s no less of a chaotic mess than before, though, so it’s kind of impossible to notice the difference), he’s out of excuses to have his back turned, and a sense of misguided propriety (something he’s never paid attention to before now, and really shouldn’t be relying on when a superhero has climbed through his window at three am) forces him to face Hei Mao, who’s too close in his cramped bedroom.

This was a bad decision, Wei Wuxian realises. Oh  _ dear _ . Oh no.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Hei Mao repeats. Wei Wuxian knows that they’re the same height if you measure in inches, but Hei Mao is a  _ taller  _ 6’1’’ than Wei Wuxian and it makes him a little furious. It doesn’t count, anyway. Surely that’s cheating. But their height difference,  _ just  _ big enough to be noticeable, is emphasized when they’re standing this close together for  _ no reason _ .

(There’s no mask to hide behind here, and neither is there a  _ need  _ to be this close to Hei Mao. There’s no akuma forcing them to stand back to back for battle reasons. There’s no crowd of reporters who need to see that the city’s superhero team is a united front. There’s not even a convenient injury that would give Wei Wuxian an excuse to collapse against his best-friend-superhero-partner-secret-crush’s  _ rock-hard chest _ and bask in the way his arms fold around him, because he’s shameless like that. Wei Wuxian, suddenly divested of his plausible deniability, is trying frantically to find the middle-ground between his performative superhero persona and his uncomfortably  _ real  _ feelings, and it’s not working.)

“Yes,” he says, and searches for what he wanted to talk to Hei Mao about. “Uh. Piao Chong told me you were worried about me.”

Wrong answer, but he can’t work out how. Maybe it’s Hei Mao’s weird vague Sixth Sense, at it again. Whatever the reason, Hei Mao’s eyes narrow a little, and he raises his chin; every movement is amplified at this distance, and Wei Wuxian is fast realising his bedroom is not in fact big enough to fit two people comfortably. Oh no; what a nightmare. “Piao Chong told you?” Hei Mao asks, voice soft around the edges, and Wei Wuxian focuses on digging his nails into his palms so that he doesn’t melt on the spot because oh  _ god _ , Hei Mao’s voice is -

“Yes,” he says again, brash and loud to hide the part of him that kind of just wants to swoon. Hei Mao’s strong enough to catch him, anyway. “Piao Chong said you were worried and I just wanted to ask, uh, what’s that about? Why me, specifically? If I didn’t know better I’d say Piao Chong seemed suspicious.”

“You talk to Piao Chong,” Hei Mao murmurs.

“What’s it to you? That’s not the point here.” Wei Wuxian winces. He’s gotten defensive. In his defense, there are  _ extenuating circumstances.  _ “You gonna tell me why you asked about  _ me _ ? Or no?”

“I,” Hei Mao says, looking gratifyingly panicked. 

It’s reassuring for all of two seconds - Wei Wuxian’s got the upper hand, caught him off guard - before Wei Wuxian comes to his senses and remembers that this, here, is in fact someone he cares about and wants to be happy. “Hey, it’s okay,” he adds quickly, “I’m not mad, just … curious. What’s going on?”

“You wanted to  _ talk  _ to me,” Hei Mao repeats, with another minute increase in his volume. “Why would you - Wei Ying, I can’t - not you -” 

“Why do you even remember my name?” Wei Wuxian says, in a voice that’s embarrassingly close to pleading. ( _ Please don’t tell me I need to give up my Miraculous because I wasn’t careful enough with my identity _ .) “Why do you even remember  _ me? _ ”

Hei Mao’s eyes have always been startlingly gold, but even more so now, when they seem to glow a little even now, in Wei Wuxian’s dimly lit room. He doesn’t answer, but his lips part a little - Wei Wuxian should  _ not  _ be as aware of that as he is - as though he’s going to respond, but thinks better of it. It hits Wei Wuxian like a landslide, as Hei Mao steps back, struggling around a word, with something so very familiar in his mannerisms now that he’s out of his element. “You’re  _ different _ ,” Hei Mao says. Wei Wuxian can almost hear someone else’s voice echoing underneath the words, but can’t put his finger on who.

“I  _ know  _ you,” Wei Wuxian realises, and tries not to panic. (All he can think of is Xue Yang, the Disciple akuma, and how powerless Wei Wuxian was with no transformation and no dizi and no Lucky Charm to get him out of the situation - but he relied on Hei Mao then, and he can rely on Hei Mao now.) “You know me.”

Hei Mao takes a step backwards, towards the window. If Wei Wuxian weren’t so invested, the blatant panic written all over his usually-impassive face would probably be cause for amusement.

“You’ve known me for a long time,” Wei Wuxian continues, and doesn’t miss the way Hei Mao flinches with his eyes and his fists. “Since before that whole thing happened with the Disciple, right? You acted so differently around me then than when I -”

_ Than when I’m Piao Chong _ , he thinks, and cuts himself off abruptly, but Hei Mao doesn’t seem to have noticed his slip. “Wei Ying,” he says, and then “ _ please _ , stop”. 

“I’m right, then.”

“You knew already,” Hei Mao whispers, and the naked  _ fear  _ in his voice is enough to wrench Wei Wuxian’s heart into his mouth, as though someone’s yanked it out through his throat. What is he doing? This is his best friend, his  _ partner _ , and might be someone else beloved to him besides. He should stop pushing. He should let Hei Mao flee, like he so obviously wants to. But also, he kind of wants to see just how deep Hei Mao’s inexplicable affection for him runs - after all, he’s only human. Well. Piao Chong.

“I don’t know how I could have resisted you if I knew who you  _ were _ ,” he teases, feeling a little sick with the way he’s caught Hei Mao off-guard. It’s a test. There’s a catch in the next breath Hei Mao takes, a subtle change in his pleading stare - he’s not  _ unaffected _ .

Hei Mao has rejected Piao Chong’s advances countless times over. Wei Wuxian knows the face of his vague discomfort like the back of his own hand. This is … not that. And right now, Wei Wuxian is not Piao Chong.

He’s torn between  _ please stay  _ and  _ just go _ , and the latter wins out - he says it wildly, with a little of his own panic squirming through his mask of resolve. “ _ Go _ ,” he repeats. “I can’t - I won’t try and catch you out, I swear, but I can’t have you be here and -”

Hei Mao nods again and takes several rapid steps backwards towards the window; his eyes are locked with Wei Wuxian’s, and neither of them can seem to look away. Then he hits the wall. Again, Wei Wuxian would laugh if the situation were any less tense - there’s this  _ adorable  _ startledness in his expression - but it is what it is, and Hei Mao tears his gaze away from Wei Wuxian’s for just long enough to vault out the window.

Once he’s closed it behind him, there’s no way Wei Wuxian can tell if he’s gone or not - he’s just more black on black. Instead of bothering to try, Wei Wuxian slumps down onto his bed and -

The plan is to stay awake, to talk to Tikki, to  _ process _ . Unfortunately, it  _ is  _ three in the fucking morning, and even Wei Wuxian’s body has limits as to how much panic and yearning it can handle without a nap.

“Wei Ying,” Tikki says sternly the next morning, “I’m sure you already understand that you can’t act on what you’ve just found out.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian agrees. Quite frankly, he’s still too stunned to be thinking critically about anything. Then it hits him.

He gasps like a cartoon character, and then lets out a giggle unbecoming of his - actually, he doesn’t have any status to think of, so never mind that. “Tikki,” he whispers, disbelieving. “This is  _ perfect. _ ”

“This is a disaster!” Tikki squeaks. “What are you -”

“Hei Mao rejects me all the time,” Wei Wuxian explains. “When I’m  _ Piao Chong _ . But last night, when I wasn’t, he didn’t -”

“It’s not like you can date him as Wei Wuxian,” Tikki snaps. “And it would be cruel to lie to him. I love you, Wei Ying, but -”

“I have had a crush on Hei Mao for the better part of a year,” Wei Wuxian beseeches her, “and it turns out I might actually have a chance with him if I’m  _ me _ .”

“You better not say what I think you’re about to,” Tikki mutters.

“I’m  _ gonna _ ,” Wei Wuxian says. He’s determined now. (Tikki should know, after being his kwami for almost a year, that telling him not to do something is the best way to make him commit to it.) “I’m gonna … seduce Hei Mao, or whatever. I just have to figure out how.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lwj, realising that he finds it very difficult to say no to anything wwx asks: U H H H H H H


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been staring at this chapter waaaaaay too long so im just gonna post it lol. also yes i know mlb patrols are ... technically not canon. but do i care? no -

Lan Wangji is so very, very weak. Wei Ying could tell him he’d murdered someone, and Lan Wangji would help him hide the body without question, superhero alter ego be damned. This is a  _ problem _ .

He needs to tell Piao Chong, he concludes, on their next patrol. After all, his partner is in contact with the Guardian who gave them both their Miraculouses - it is his decision whether Lan Wangji will be allowed to keep his Miraculous, compromised as he is. (If Piao Chong says he can no longer be Hei Mao -

Piao Chong will not say that. Piao Chong is in no position to judge, after all. And Piao Chong is kind, and  _ just _ . Lan Wangji trusts Piao Chong, even if he cannot trust himself.)

“How are you this fine night, then?” Piao Chong calls, alighting beside Lan Wangji in their customary meeting place. “Usual route? I’m having a slow day, so you’ll probably beat me.”

“I would rather talk,” Lan Wangji says quietly, keeping his hands folded neatly at his sides.

Piao Chong glances sideways at Lan Wangji, eyes narrowing under his mask. “You okay, Mao?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Piao Chong snorts through a spurt of laughter, but doesn’t press the issue; Lan Wangji feels a surge of over-fond gratitude, the kind he’s been learning to conceal since childhood. Instead, Piao Chong throws himself down onto the rooftop at Lan Wangji’s side for as long as he can bear to be still; Lan Wangji sits beside him, crosses his legs, and listens quietly as Piao Chong chatters animatedly about his day, his life, his trials and tribulations. There are details omitted, of course, due to the demands of their secret identities. Lan Wangji knows he should bring up Wei Ying, but cannot bear to disrupt the flow of Piao Chong’s conversation. It’s …  _ comfortable _ . Lan Wangji sinks into his own skin, feels the weight of his sword against his knees as he settles it across his lap, and breathes.

Piao Chong is telling stories, now, about his family, albeit in vague-enough terms that nothing he says is identifiable. He has mentioned them before - an elder sister and younger brother, and their parents who adopted him - but Lan Wangji listens attentively anyway. Piao Chong’s family is important to him, he knows. It’s evident in the way he speaks of them. In the cadence of his voice, the motion of his hands, the light in his unnatural silver eyes. Lan Wangji wonders, briefly, if Piao Chong considers him, Hei Mao, a part of his family - if he ever talks about  _ him _ like this - and allows that thought to linger  _ comfortably _ , instead of quelling it immediately like he knows his uncle would prefer he do. “And my  _ jie  _ said that he was allowed to think that stuff about her,” Piao Chong is saying, and Lan Wangji refocuses on his voice. “But I figured he was being a peacock and a dick, so I, uh. I might have hit him.”

Maybe Lan Wangji was not listening as closely as he thought.

Piao Chong laughs again as he glances over at Lan Wangji. “Your  _ face _ ! It’s fine, he hit me back but he was really weak. I don’t think I even bruised. Can’t remember though, this was ages ago.”

Lan Wangji takes too long to respond, and Piao Chong must interpret his silence as an answer in its own right, because after a short pause he keeps talking. “So I got in a tiny bit of trouble, but nothing serious. It was fine, right? Nothing major. But then Madam - uh, my adopted mother? She was so angry. It was crazy. She kept talking about how I was disgracing her reputation and letting the family down, even though her other favourite tactic to win arguments is to point out that I’m  _ not  _ technically part of the family.”

Lan Wangji processes this with its due consideration. “Cruel of her.”

“Meh, a little,” Piao Chong allows, and shrugs it off. “Doesn’t really matter if I’m not enough for her, right? After all, she’d change her mind real quick if she knew I was Piao Chong.”

Lan Wangji blinks. “You are  _ more  _ than enough.”

“Aiya, Hei Mao, I’m not enough for  _ you _ , either,” Piao Chong says wryly, through a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes I think I’d be better at being Hei Mao, you know? Than Piao Chong. After all, I … destroy everything around me as it is, so. It’d seem appropriate.”

Lan Wangji frowns. “You heal. You create.”

“Well,” Piao Chong prevaricates, and flashes the full force of his grin at Lan Wangji; it has too many teeth. Lan Wangji wants to hurt whoever conditioned Piao Chong so, leaving him with such little sense of his own self-worth. “I try.”

“We try,” Lan Wangji agrees, and crosses his legs. He considers meditating. But he discards the idea before long; Piao Chong is warm and close by his shoulder, too full of life for Lan Wangji to block out. He sighs and roves his eyes over the skyline, searching idly for the signs of an akuma attack, waiting patiently until Piao Chong sees fit to continue their conversation.

After a time, Piao Chong shifts position until he’s sprawled even more clumsily over the rooftop, chin propped on the heel of his palm. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you mean,  _ you  _ try? You’re a perfect Hei Mao, a perfect superhero. You’re so  _ good _ , and you know all the rules, and you do everything right. I can’t even remember to cleanse the akuma without being reminded half the time.”

Lan Wangji shrugs. He did not expect the conversation to go in this direction, but Piao Chong exudes a mien of reassuring acceptance; it makes him want to talk. “I am not a good Hei Mao. My kwami is … I am irritated by my kwami,” he amends - it’s his fault, not Plagg’s. “And I cannot cope with bad luck.”

Piao Chong snorts. “At least I’ve got experience dealing with that, huh?” 

Lan Wangji makes a vaguely questioning noise in the back of his throat - it’s out before he can stop himself. Piao Chong has a habit of forcing him to let down his guard until things slip through.

“Oh! Not when I’m transformed.” Piao Chong flutters his fingers like he’s making a point, emphasising the black-and-ret patterning of his gloves. “But as my civilian self I’m crazy clumsy. Always falling over. You wouldn’t recognise me.” There’s a strange tilt to his grin, like he knows something Lan Wangji doesn’t. “You’d be perfect, though, if I was - always catching me. My knight in black catsuit. Swoon.” He places a theatrical hand to his brow and slumps dramatically against Lan Wangji’s thigh.

“Not perfect.”

“Huh?”

“Being Hei Mao,” Lan Wangji says, “it means I do not have to be perfect.”

Piao Chong sighs from where he’s lying on Lan Wangji’s leg, and then sits straight up. “ _ God _ . Who hurt you?”

Lan Wangji does not dignify that with a response. Besides, he’s gotten better at telling when Piao Chong is teasing.

Piao Chong laughs again, clearly not expecting an answer. “It’s, like … the opposite for me, I think. But it helps me too. When I’m not Piao Chong, no one really takes much notice of me.”

“I would notice you,” Lan Wangji defends. This seems like very important information. He is not in love with Piao Chong, but he cares deeply for his partner, would lay down his life for him without question. Piao Chong, much like Wei Ying, is a sun in nature - he attracts Lan Wangji’s attention wherever he goes. Lan Wangji cannot imagine a world in which he would not feel drawn to Piao Chong.

“ _ Right _ ,” Piao Chong snickers. “Despite the masks,  _ and  _ the Miraculous magic that disguises what little you can see of our faces behind them, and the weird silver and gold eyes that are colours that literally no one could possibly have naturally -”

“Not by your face,” Lan Wangji snaps. 

“I dunno.” Piao Chong thumbs his nose, in an oddly familiar mannerism that Lan Wangji can’t place. “I don’t think you’d recognise me even if I …  _ seduced  _ you, or something.”

“ _ Piao Chong _ ,” Lan Wangji hisses. 

“I’m not sorry,” Piao Chong sing-songs, and flashes a radiant smile. Then he sobers. “No, but seriously, I think being Piao Chong is good for me. It’s like … a second chance. You were talking about how expectations are too much for you, right?”

“Mn.”

“But I think I need them,” Piao Chong admits, a startling, raw openness in his tone. “I need people that … care enough whether I turn out okay or not, you know? Being Piao Chong is a second chance. For me. To prove I can make things right. Be wise. Be good.”

Lan Wangji should speak, he knows. He should say something reassuring. Something pertinent. Something concise but poignant. But he can’t make the words come, and Piao Chong seems content to keep talking into the comfortable silence sitting between them.

“Plus,” Piao Chong continues, and his tone is still light, but Lan Wangji knows it’s a front. “I wouldn’t trust myself with Cataclysm, if I’m being honest.” He mugs at Hei Mao’s shoulder, like Wei Ying sometimes does to Jiang Cheng. The gesture almost makes Lan Wangji smile. “I’m glad you’re Hei Mao, though,” Piao Chong continues. “I trust you with it. The city trusts you.”

“And I trust you to heal everything,” Lan Wangji admits. His eyes are fixed on the city skyline. He is determinedly not looking at Piao Chong.

Piao Chong coughs aggressively, and Lan Wangji gives him a helpful pat on the back - presumably there’s something stuck in his throat. “ _ Hei Mao _ ,” Piao Chong complains. “You always say things like that! I have  _ asked  _ you to  _ warn  _ me.”

Lan Wangji rolls his eyes, a little fondly, but then remembers with a start why he is here. He needs to explain. Needs to tell Piao Chong how his restraint has been affected, how he has endangered his identity. He cannot lie. Even though he wears a mask, he cannot truly hide, he reflects; if he were prone to fidgeting, he would reach up to adjust the golden cloud motif in the centre of his dark cat’s mask. He is not prone to fidgeting. He is, however, prone to thinking in circles, and losing track of what he needs to say by distracting himself and letting the moment in the conversation pass, until he has no chance to speak. 

“Piao Chong.” 

“Yeah?”

“You flirt.”

“I don’t just flirt,” Piao Chong pouts.

“You … like me.” Lan Wangji acknowledges the  _ thing  _ sitting between them, which is something he never does. Piao Chong flirts and Hei Mao turns away; this is how things are, and Lan Wangji’s deviation from the rules sends the world spiralling out of balance, or so it feels. But it needs to be said. He needs to tell Piao Chong about Wei Ying.

“Yeah,” Piao Chong says ruefully. “I like you, I love you, I’ve been in love with you for a whole year now. Whatever. That’s just how things are. Is something up?”

“If there were no one else,” Lan Wangji begins, before losing his nerve and trailing off.

Piao Chong stiffens, before dissolving into a surprisingly soft giggle. “But there’s someone else! Is this your way of telling me that you’ve got a cruuush?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “I … apologise?” He doesn’t know if he should. He does not owe Piao Chong his love, even if he owes Piao Chong his life; his heart belongs to Wei Ying. This is a central truth to Lan Wangji’s universe, one he accepted almost a year ago under an umbrella in the rain and has not dared to question since. All the same, guilt churns in his stomach. If this final rejection, this grave honesty that Piao Chong cannot joke his way out of, affects their partnership -

“Hey, Hei Mao,” Piao Chong says gently. “Don’t worry, don’t panic. I’m not upset. It’s not like anything’s really changed, right? I like you, and you don’t like me.” He seems strangely content as he says this, even a little smug, and Lan Wangji realises with a stab of some emotion that Piao Chong’s feelings for Hei Mao have obviously never run that deep. This shouldn’t hurt him - it’s not like he’s in love with Piao Chong - but it’s so foreign to him, this idea of a halfway crush. (Lan Wangji has loved Wei Ying for almost a year, since the moment he first set eyes on him. The only reason he brings it up now is that his recent … weakness, in Wei Ying’s  _ bedroom _ , proves that his yearning, his  _ wanting _ , could endanger his superhero identity. Piao Chong deserves to know.) It feels like a failing on Hei Mao’s part, rather than an eccentricity on Piao Chong’s. Like he’s not worth loving the whole way.

Belatedly, Lan Wangji realises he’s been silent too long and Piao Chong is waiting for him to speak. “Mn,” he agrees. 

“But why are you bringing this up?” Piao Chong says slyly, around a grin. “Has a pretty girl caught your eye? Here, let me guess.” He casts a glance around and throws out a wild finger. Lan Wangji can’t work out for a moment what on earth he could be pointing towards, this high up, but things become clear when he follows the line of Piao Chong’s arm - a billboard emblazoned with Luo Qingyang’s visage and her stage name. “You like Mian Mian!”

Lan Wangji can feel his ears flushing, and thanks Plagg for the unkempt strands of hair that obscure them. “No.” He has actually modelled with Luo Qingyang, in the past - there was one memorable photoshoot in which he was expected to pose as her boyfriend. She was businesslike and competent. He suspects she does not think much of the frivolous, flirty image her brand has worked hard to bring her.

Piao Chong pouts theatrically, and Lan Wangji’s chest swells at his partner’s antics. This is good. He does not deserve it. “What’s her name then?” Piao Chong teases. “Someone from high society like you, I bet. Hmm … one of the Wens?”

“No.”

“A pretty girl from your school.”

Lan Wangji notes his irritation, and quells it. “ _ No _ .”

“Well give me a hint then.”

“Our secret identities -” Lan Wangji cuts himself off. He brought Wei Ying up for a  _ reason  _ \- his weakness could endanger his identity. (He doesn’t think he’s strong enough to deny Wei Ying anything, if he asks, not even  _ are you Hei Mao? _ ) “I need to tell you -”

“I’m  _ joking _ ,” Piao Chong snorts, and shoves at Lan Wangji’s shoulder again. “Am I guessing the wrong gender, is that it? Do you like a pretty  _ boy  _ from your school?”

Lan Wangji tenses, but Piao Chong’s expression is still open, has not changed. Perhaps he is teasing still. But Lan Wangji feels safer with Piao Chong than he ever has with his family, traditional as they are; he sighs, opens his eyes, and makes the barest sound of affirmation.

“Nice!” Piao Chong sticks his fist towards Lan Wangji, who ‘pounds it’ with none of Piao Chong’s enthusiasm. (He notes, dimly, that his hands are shaking.) “Be gay, fight crimes! Tell me about him, then.” There’s a glint to Piao Chong’s eyes. It’s vaguely unsettling, and strangely … familiar? “Who is this boy who has captured my Hei Mao’s heart?”

“... He is fierce,” Lan Wangji says, against his better judgment. “Clever. Resolute.” He pauses, and adds, “Ridiculous.”

Piao Chong is silent. This is worryingly uncharacteristic of him. Lan Wangji opens his mouth to comment, but Piao Chong forestalls him with a giggle and an exclamation: “Don’t worry, Hei Mao, I’m fine. Just … thinking.” 

“About?” Lan Wangji inquires, polite. 

“Your mystery boy,” Piao Chong says through a devastatingly false grin. “Tell me! Is he  _ pretty? _ ”

Lan Wangji rolls his own. (An inappropriately rude reaction, and one he would certainly never employ as the second heir to the Lan fashion empire; but he is Hei Mao, and he is with Piao Chong. He is safely anonymous. He does not have to be quite so perfect, here.) “Yes,” he admits, the confession clumsy on his lips. What does it matter if he tells Piao Chong about Wei Ying? It should not feel as significant as it does. “He is … stunning. Takes my breath away.”

“Aw,” Piao Chong coos, but his tone is forced, and he sounds like he is choking. “That’s adorable.”

Lan Wangji can tell he has said something to elicit this reaction from Piao Chong - somehow, he has said the wrong thing. (Perhaps, he realises too late, he should not tell the superhero who is in love with him about the civilian he was rejected for.) “I will leave,” he says quickly, and then winces in sync with Piao Chong at his clumsy phrasing. “I mean - it is late. I will … go home and sleep.”

“Yes that’s probably for the best,” Piao Chong says, and then hastily, “Oh, shit, I mean - I’m  _ sorry _ . I didn’t want to make things weird -”

“There should be no apologies between us,” Lan Wangji tells him, and means it. He doesn’t realise until he’s home (at 8:45 pm on the dot) and dropping his transformation, heading to the kitchen to sate Plagg’s relentless desire for cheese, that he failed to tell Piao Chong about what happened with Wei Ying.

(Plagg, when he hears this, chuckles for a long moment. Then he covers his mouth with a tiny paw and screams into it about ‘oblivious idiots’. He does not elucidate as to what bothers him when Lan Wangji asks.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES THE LENGTH MIGHT HAVE GOTTEN AWAY FROM ME A LITTLE IM VERY SORRY

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, as always!!! comments and kudos are always appreciated, but especially now with the changes to the way ao3 counts logged-out users. <3 please let me know what you're thought! and i'm on tumblr at hoarding-citrine/wwx-said-trans-rights.
> 
> the names are all pinyin! hei mao i got from google translate and [KamiThePooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamiThePooh/pseuds/KamiThePooh), piao chong/hu die i owe to my very patient chinese friends on the sizhui protection squad discord. thank you for helping out this poor clueless white boy 😔😔 <3 ily all! for my fellow non-chinese speakers, hei mao = black cat, piao chong = ladybug, hu die = butterfly


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